


Five Kinks Rodney Denies He Has, And One He Admits

by entropy_maximum (missjmelville)



Series: Five Kinks [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjmelville/pseuds/entropy_maximum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as the title suggest, Five kinks Rodney denies he has and one he admits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Kinks Rodney Denies He Has, And One He Admits

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of my "Five Kinks Series", Beta'd by both Susan and Ciar. Inspiration for this story came from Bluespirit's A Manly Kind of Fashion over on Wraithbait.

Rodney had kinks, yes, just like everyone else. Of course, he would deny them until his dying breath if anyone asked. 

The Tags.

To be specific; John’s dog tags. Rodney couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn to the thin metal chain, seeking the tags attached at the end whenever he was in close proximity to John. ‘The Dog Tags’, which is how Rodney thought of them (yes, with capitals!) were always predominant in his jerk-off fantasies. Of course this led to Rodney fantasising about them whenever he was close enough to the Colonel to see the chain and the outline of ‘The Tags’ just beneath the Colonel’s black shirt. 

He wanted to hold them in his hand while John fucked him with deep hard strokes that took more than they gave. Rodney could only imagine the feel of the cool metal in his fingers as it slowly heated. The panting breaths, the chink of the chain as it jangled with every thrust, the feeling of their sweat-slick bodies gliding together. He blinked and looked up to see John standing unbearably close. People bustled around the control room, all busy, none (thankfully) watching them. 

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. Trying to hide his growing erection, he watched the chain move slightly when John swallowed. Rodney’s breathing grew rapid and he knew he had to leave before he embarrassed himself. Making a hurried excuse about leaving an experiment running in the labs, he hurried away to his quarters. He needed a cold shower.

 

The Shirt.

Or more specifically John’s shirt. And it wasn’t just any old shirt, it was the black one that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. It was sleek and aerodynamic, smooth and silky. Every time John wore that shirt, Rodney had to use all of his self-restraint not to pet it, not to stroke it and especially not to think about how perfect it would be for tying a wrist to a bedpost. No, those thoughts were off-limits.

The thought of John standing in front of him in nothing but ‘That Shirt’, did things to Rodney he really didn’t want to think about in the middle of the hall with people surrounding him. Rodney imagined John on his knees taking Rodney’s hot hard cock in his mouth and sucking eagerly. ‘The Shirt’ rubbing across Rodney’s thighs. His skin prickled and tingled, how Rodney ached just to touch ‘The Shirt’, to find out if it was as soft as he thought it was.

He watched as John moved with a lithe elegance that reminded him of a tiger at the zoo. A predator. John was a predator and he was the prey, only John didn’t know that yet. He was pulling Rodney into his trap without even realising it. Then when the time was right, John would pounce, he would devour him. Rodney gulped, time for another cold shower.

 

The Jeans.

Yes, yes, they were John’s jeans; yes, they were black, and yes, they were tight. They hugged the Colonel’s ass as if they were tailored specifically for him, and as Rodney thought about it, they probably were. Those jeans had caused many a precious brain cell of Rodney’s to shut down, and that was just not acceptable. John only wore ‘Those Jeans’ on special occasions. There had been an inordinate amount of special occasions lately, andif Rodney let himself be distracted, it would seem as though the Colonel knew what ‘His Jeans’ did to Rodney and was finding reasons to wear them just to see Rodney squirm.

It was ridiculous of course. John never knew about the way Rodney drooled over his ass in ‘Those Jeans’ and, if Rodney had his way, John never would. In his mind’s eye, Rodney could see John, Jeans on and his hard cock pressing against the black fabric. He’d be rubbing himself leisurely, a lazy smile on his face, which would gradually turn into that smirk that Rodney found so annoying. John would moan and rub harder, his face flushed, eyes half closed and his breath coming in small pants.

Rodney shook his head, he had to stop daydreaming in the middle of crowded places, this time it was the mess hall. Luckily, though, he was seated, so the erection that pushed insistently at his pants was easy to hide. He tried to finish eating; his erection was just starting to wilt when the object of his daydream was suddenly there, and John.

What was the special occasion today? Rodney couldn’t think; John had his hip jutting out and was leaning against Rodney’s table. Those damn Jeans! Rodney felt his cock stir again; hastily he made an excuse and rushed out of the mess holding his still full tray inconspicuously in front of his groin. Cold showers just weren’t cutting it anymore.

 

The Gun.

No not that gun, although he did think about that one a lot too. No, this gun was the pistol strapped to John’s thigh. The one he noticed that John stroked, perhaps fondled would be a more appropriate word. It didn’t matter either way, whenever John’s hand strayed from doing something else to stroke the handle of ‘That Gun’ Rodney was instantly hard. It wasn’t even ‘The Gun’ itself really, it was more the whole thigh holster and the way John looked holding ‘That Gun’. So confident and sure of himself, ready to shoot if the need arose.

Rodney shivered; John was caressing, no fondling the handle of ‘The Gun’ again. Rodney couldn’t help the small moan that made its way, struggling out of his throat. Luckily, John didn’t seem to notice, as absorbed as he was in what Ronon was telling him. Rodney was achingly hard; he could just see John, lying on his bed, totally naked except for the holster and Gun attached to his right thigh. Cock hard and leaking, John would fondle ‘The Gun’, holding Rodney’s gaze with his and then, he would come.

Rodney turned away from the Jumper he was currently checking over and, with a barely mumbled excuse to Radek; he fled the Jumper bay without a backward glance. Luckily, he made it to his room without anyone seeing him. Rodney shucked his pants and boxers and within moments was jacking himself off fiercely. The cold showers had long stopped working, this was the only thing he could do to relieve the pressure. He thought of the way John’s long fingers fondled ‘The Gun’s’ handle and with just two more strokes he was coming harder than he had in weeks.

 

The Wristband.

He didn’t know what it was about John and the colour black, but it suited him all the same. ‘The Wristband’ was probably the least weird of all of Rodney’s kinks, after all, he even had overheard some of the female population of Atlantis fantasising about it. ‘The Wristband’ was probably the only one of John’s things that Rodney had a kink for that Rodney had actually touched. Only he didn’t like to think about that, because it had been when he was looking for a pulse.

However, ‘The Wristband’ still seemed to cause Rodney’s breath to hitch, and his pulse to speed. His pants would tighten three sizes and his mouth would suddenly be dry. He could feel it, the rough scratch of ‘The Wristband’ rubbing against his hips as John thrust into him hard and fast. It wouldn’t hurt though, even if it left a raw patch of skin in its wake, it would only heighten the arousal, making Rodney come that much faster.

At least this time there was no one around to notice Rodney’s sudden discomfort, no one that is except Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard himself. Their eyes locked, and with that one look, Rodney came undone. His soft moan, and the wet heat spreading across the front of his pants, left him blushing furiously. John however seemed unaware of Rodney’s discomfort, he took a step closer, then another, and within seconds he was right _there_ and then they were kissing, and there was tongue, and it was hot, wet, and oh so sweet.

When John asked him later why he had such weird kinks, Rodney denied any such thing; he didn’t have kinks, especially not about John’s clothes or possessions. It didn’t matter that Rodney was currently clutching ‘The Tags’ closely, or that his other hand absently stroked ‘The Wristband’. It didn’t matter that ‘The Gun’ was settled carefully on his bedside cabinet, or that ‘The Shirt’ and ‘The Jeans’ were lying rumpled on his floor, no. He didn’t have kinks, well maybe one. But John already knew that.

In the sleepy daze that had caught them both off guard, Rodney whispered quietly into John’s ear. “You’re my kink; you’re my Kirk too.” 

And with that, they both drifted off into a deep slumber, Rodney still holding tightly onto ‘The Tags’. Okay, so maybe he did have some kinks, but the thing was, so did John. 


End file.
